


an endless summer afternoon

by teuhanna



Category: TREASURE (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Ending Undecided, M/M, sukhoon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26837980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teuhanna/pseuds/teuhanna
Summary: Choi Hyunsuk wasn't the first person he loved.Still, Jihoon can't help but think that he would be the last.
Relationships: Choi Hyunsuk/Park Jihoon, Kim Junkyu & Park Jihoon
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Please read this with a healthy mindset that this is FanFiction. It does not, in any way, reflect the actual relationship between the both of them. They are real people with real goals, and this was made for fun. With that said, enjoy!

In truth, it was like any other night. Save for the sounds of the city, the footsteps hitting the asphalt, and the rustling of leaves as a gentle breeze blows through, the night was comparatively quiet. The drunk uncle who frequented the store on the corner wasn’t even there, nor was the auntie who nagged him to go home. The streets, dimly lit by lampposts and the light filtering in from convenience store windows, had little to no people on them. Still, thanks to the lamppost behind him, his eyes could see two intermingling shadows on the pavement, close enough to eliminate any space between them.

Somehow, the scene looked like it could fit in a drama.

If they were in a drama, this would be the ideal setting for one of those scenes between the two leads—the kind of scene that either made, broke, or complicated the relationship. If he closes his eyes, he could almost imagine how the scene could go, but of course, they weren’t in a drama. They weren’t two characters who had a script to promise a happy ending. Here, happy endings weren’t guaranteed. Here, they were just two humans amongst millions, leading their lives, trying to find something to make it worthwhile.

If this was a drama, maybe he could have been braver… maybe then, it wouldn’t be like this. To his dismay, however, this was reality and these were the cards he was dealt with. Now, he had no choice but to either fold or make do.

A sudden hum startles him out of his thoughts, and he turns to look at the person walking next to him—one who had his headphones on, head moving to the song's beat, mouth lip-syncing to whatever it was. Feeling a smile tugging on his lips, he can’t help but think to himself, _‘I really love this person, don’t I?’_

A laugh escapes him at the thought.

Idly, he is left to wonder if he was going to push through with this. In response, his heartbeat hastens to a mile a minute, as though ringing in alarm, warning him— _begging him, really_ —to think twice. At this point though, he knows better than to trust both his mind and his heart. Those two were the ones that got him in this mess, after all. 

So, like a simpleton, he leaves it up to ‘fate’.

_(Never mind that he was never one for fate.)_

He closes his eyes and stops walking. For how long? He doesn’t exactly know. All he knows is that judging from the way his heart was thundering in his chest, and despite everything that happened, his traitorous heart still had the nerve to hope. 

He hates it.

Still, he keeps his eyes shut and pretends. 

Pretends, for a fleeting moment, that they were the leads in a drama, waiting for their promised happy ending wherein there’d be no more tears, sorrows, or goodbyes. Come three years from now, they’d be married with a reception that was far from traditional yet memorable all the same. Then, they’d be moving into a house or an apartment, discussing whether to adopt a kid or a pet (but ultimately ending up adopting both). Maybe they’d grow old together, or maybe they won’t. Either way, he would have been lucky enough to have spent a lifetime with him.

 _'Breathe,’_ he reminds himself, taking a deep breath and trying to steady his heartbeat. He knows that this lifetime, this hopeful what-if that he managed to condense in a minute, would disappear the moment he opens his eyes. He hates how it almost physically hurts him to open his eyes, but he still does it in the end.

He opens his eyes and is slapped across the face by reality.

Love’s figure is now in the distance, with only his shadow reaching out to bridge the space in between. He sees love with his back turned, and just like that, he manages to come to a decision. 

He opens his mouth to speak, but to his dismay, a lump forms in his throat, and nothing comes out. If one thinks about it though, attempting to call love would have been stupid. Love had headphones on, so it wasn’t like love would even hear him anyway. So he does the next best thing— _he waits._

And waits. 

Waits, even as love’s shadow also began to slip from his reach. Waits, even if every fiber of his being was telling him to go to love’s side and pretend nothing had happened—that he always stood at his designated spot beside love. Waits, even as he overcomes this dilemma and refuses to even move an inch. Waits, even if was hurting him to. Waits, even if he doesn’t know if what was the right thing to do anymore.

Waits, until love finally realizes that he had been walking alone.

His waiting ended then.

He reads the confusion coming off of love’s body. Love, wondering why he was alone, rapidly looks around in a panic. Love removes his headphones in haste, and calls out his name— _and, in that moment, he knows that he won’t ever get tired of hearing his name fall from love’s lips_. There is no doubt in his mind that right now, love’s eyes would be wide, that his mouth would hang open as he processes what was happening. Love’s hands, though he couldn’t see them, would be gently holding the headphones against his chest, not knowing where else to put them. 

The sight brings a smile to his lips. At the same time, his chest tightens as it dawns on him that even from afar, he could picture love’s face to the most minuscule detail.

_‘Aigoo, I really do love him.’_

He calls out love’s name.

Startled, love spins around quickly, eyes frantically looking around before they land on him. Love’s mouth hangs open, no doubt to reprimand him or complain, but when love sees the distance between them, love, too, stutters to a stop. 

This could have been like any other day. 

This could have been like a drama.

But it wasn’t.

This was reality.

And reality, more than half the time, was shit.

Love, with confusion written on his face, moves to approach him. Then, before he knew it, three words fell from his lips, effectively halting love where love stood—in the distance, far from reach, far from _him._

“Let’s break up,” a voice says.

He barely recognizes it to be his own. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teuha! 
> 
> Please read AUs about real people with a grain of salt. With that said, enjoy!

(Park Jihoon)

Somewhere in Seoul, in a one-bedroom apartment, the sounds of a keyboard clicking were all that was heard. It was nearing one in the morning, but the student, who was frantically typing, showcased no signs of running out of steam. The student sat on a desk positioned next to his bed, muttering about an unfair deadline and word count, hand reaching for the mug on his right. 

When he brings the mug to his lips, the student is chastened to find that he forgot to refill his coffee. He sighs, placing the mug back down and looks at the written outline on his left. After mentally ticking his progress, he doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. He still had three pages of writing to do. Sighing, again, he glances at his wall clock, mentally calculating how many hours of sleep he could squeeze in before his class later at seven. The answer? Not much. In truth, he’d be lucky to get any kind of sleep at all. 

_‘Why is nothing working out for me?’_

Suddenly, his phone rings. Without glancing at the caller ID, he picks up the call, putting it on the loudspeaker, and haphazardly tosses the phone on the bed. He already knew who it was—there now existed only one person who would bother calling him this late.

“Ya, Park Jihoon,” a familiar voice fills the room, one that was almost hesitant yet somehow determined all the same, “Are you okay?” 

That startles a laugh out of him, “I guess you’ve already heard.” 

“Well—” The voice on the other end stutters, probably trying to figure out how to explain. The gesture somehow manages to make him smile. Jihoon did tend to be a private person, sharing only when he felt like it, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t appreciate how his friend immediately called him in concern. “You see—” 

“It’s fine,” He says, gently cutting off the other person. Leaning back against his chair, he continues, “You don’t have to tell me how you find out.” 

He knows that the caller was probably rolling their eyes. The voice sighs, “But seriously, though, how are you really feeling?” 

The question makes him pause. Jihoon takes this chance to look around his room, to glance at the numerous memos and photos tacked onto the corkboard on his wall. Amongst the reminders for requirements and important events, there were photos of his family, his older cousins, and his friends. Eventually, his eyes land on one picture gingerly tucked under a haphazardly written note that contained both a number and a name. 

_(It was his favorite.)_

It was one of those pocket-sized instant photos, taken at a welcoming party during his freshman year. Usually, cameras weren’t allowed in bars. However, since the club owners were alumni of the university, they allowed a certain number of cameras inside, with the condition that they would be instant cameras. For what reason? Jihoon didn’t know. All he heard was that the owners preferred it if the students captured the spontaneity of the moment in its authenticity. 

So, that night, the club was filled to the brim with university students, partying like there was no tomorrow. And somehow, amid the party that embodied chaos, this specific photo was taken.

The photograph was focused on the two figures who occupied most of its tiny frame. In it, a younger Jihoon was smiling with his tongue sticking out, arm slung over the shoulders of another person while holding a half-emptied bottle of tequila. The other person, who had teal-dyed hair, was winking and covering the lower half of his face with one hand positioned in a peace sign.

Photos couldn’t play songs, but whenever he glances at this picture, he just _knows_ that Bigbang’s Sober was the one that was playing in the club back then. He even remembers the exact line that was playing. Truth be told, it wasn’t like he could have forgotten anyway. His memories of that party, while splotchy, were still clearer than what his psychology professor discussed last week. 

Sure, like all university parties, it could have gone _better_ —maybe he shouldn’t have downed eight shots of tequila near-consecutively, leading him to get drunk in record time—but he remembers just being _in_ the moment during that party. Parties weren’t for everyone. He just wasn’t part of the statistic that made up ‘everyone.’ That night, he felt alive; he felt _limitless._ Hell, he even gathered enough confidence to dance his ass off to whatever song the DJ decided to put on.

That night was many things. It was fun, messy, wild, and everything in between. Still, that doesn’t stop him from looking back at it with a fond smile and a shake of his head. He’d give up a lot of things just to relive that night. 

It was the night they met, after all. 

It’s been three years since. 

“Honestly? I don’t even know.” 

Jihoon forcibly removes his gaze from the photo, opting to look up at his ceiling in a sad attempt to stop the memory reels from rolling. The voice on the line stays unerringly silent. 

“I mean, it’s like I knew this was coming. I don’t think mourning a relationship while it’s still ongoing was a good thing to do, but during the months leading up to this, it was all I did. So, I guess you could even say that I expected this to happen, and I just chose to curb my losses.”

“That doesn’t mean it hurts less.” The voice points out. Somehow, Jihoon could hear the pout. 

He agrees, “That doesn’t mean it hurts any less.” 

Silence envelopes the room, effectively leaving Jihoon at the mercy of his own mind. On most days, he likes being in his head, thinking, and connecting lines. Today, however, he finds himself wanting to find shelter from the sudden onslaught of memories triggered by _that_ photograph.

For what it’s worth, he always knew silence could be suffocating; he just never thought it could be this loud as well. But, he can’t blame his friend— _there was nothing left to be said._

“Ya, Park Jihoon!” The voice suddenly exclaims.

“What is it?” He retaliates with all the playfulness he could muster.

“Come out.”

“Excuse me, what?”

“Come. Out.”

Blinking at the unusual request, Jihoon moves to his window, tossing it open and sticking his head out, checking the street below him. Upon doing so, he is greeted by a tall figure decked in an all-black ensemble. One of the figure’s hands was cradling a phone to his ear, and the other was waving in an over-exaggerated manner.

He can’t help but smile. Before he could stop himself, the following words escape his lips in a manner that was almost teasing, “Don’t you have to sit an exam tomorrow, our future veterinarian, Mr. Kim Junkyu?”

His friend pouts and glares in retaliation. Seemingly forgetting he had a phone to use, Junkyu yells out, “Don’t remind me.”

Jihoon’s eyes widen as he hurries to hush his friend, laughing as he picks up his phone from the bed and places it against his ear, “Ya, do you know what time is it?”

He sticks his upper body out further, checking the windows of the other buildings around him to check if someone suddenly turned their lights on. Thankfully, none did, and he visibly—and exaggeratedly—sags in relief. His friend rolls his eyes at his antics.

In turn, he signals for Junkyu to put the phone back next to his ears. When the latter does as he was told, the former finally asks, “What are you doing here?”

“I started walking when I heard,” Junkyu starts looking straight at him, eyes not leaving his face. He spoke with a caring inflection in his tone, one that sometimes made Jihoon want to forget that he was the older of the two. “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

That makes him pause.

“Where would go at one in the morning though?” 

His friend smiles brightly. “Anywhere.”

He found himself smiling in return.

* * *

(Kim Junkyu)

“So, when you said _anywhere,_ ” his friend starts with a small twinkle of mischief in his eyes, “You actually meant _this_ restaurant, didn’t you? How sentimental.”

Junkyu considers it a stroke of luck that the restaurant had been converted into a 24-hour one last month. Still, he wouldn’t tell Jihoon that he wasn’t sure if the restaurant would have been open at this hour.

“Shut up.” He retaliates, piling more meat onto Jihoon’s plate. “Just eat.” 

The person across him laughs but obliges, stuffing his mouth with the grilled meat, rendering him silent. Junkyu takes this time to look at the person across the table—the same person he considers himself lucky enough to call a friend. 

Jihoon had a small smile playing on his face, obviously pleased that they were here, and his entire demeanor even seemed to have lightened to some extent. Before, if you had asked Junkyu how he felt about the break-up, he would have initially said that he was almost happy about it. For the past few months, despite the older of the two never sharing and the other not asking, it was almost like an open secret between both of them that the older one was unhappy. 

Now, if you asked him, after he saw Jihoon in person, he’d say that he was on the fence about it. His friend carried a lighter air around him now, as though his shoulders no longer bore any weight. His eyes, on the other hand, held a different story. His eyes, if you knew them well enough, were never able to lie. 

At present, his eyes looked desolate, more miserable than Junkyu’s ever seen them be. 

As a result, before he could stop himself, words already slipped from his lips. “Jihoonie, what happened?”

The person across the table pauses for a beat, then resumes chewing his food. Then, he swallows and answers, “We were walking home. We got separated. We broke up. End!” 

He barely stops himself from banging his head on the table. “Why? It’s never as simple as that when it comes to y—” 

“Maybe I’m just petty like that,” Jihoon says, cutting him off by shoving a piece of meat in his mouth. He could only just glare in retaliation. Correction: glare _and_ chew. Upon seeing this, the person just smiles serenely before placing more meat on the grill. 

Eventually, he manages to get the food to go down. “ _Lies_.” 

Jihoon chuckles, reaching for a glass of water and bringing it up to his lips, eyes glazing over as he mulls about something. Junkyu lets him, choosing to busy himself with preparing a wrap. When he was close to being done, only needing to add kimchi and rice, he hears the thump of the glass being set back down on the table. 

“I haven’t even cried about it. The break-up, I mean.” 

Junkyu hums, still not lifting his eyes to meet his counterpart’s. He knows that the older of the two preferred it that way. Jihoon had never liked being emotionally vulnerable in front of people. When they were younger, back in high school, whenever such a moment arose, he already had a witty remark at the ready, being keen on acting like a smart aleck. 

“Is it because of relief? I don’t know. For the past few months, I turned into someone I didn’t even like. It was to the point that I almost hated myself,” Jihoon explains steadily, with no emotion in his tone. “Whenever I was close to, I always ended up pitying myself instead.” He exhales, “Still, it wasn’t completely _his_ fault in the same way that it wasn’t completely _mine_.” 

As Junkyu finishes his wrap, he looks up to find his friend refilling his glass of water. When the glass was filled, Jihoon picks up the glass once more and looks in the distance. A sad laugh escapes his lips, “We were both cowards, though.” He shakes his head, “In hindsight, I guess we always were.” 

Junkyu lowers the hand that held his wrap, asking a question in a tone that was both quiet and hesitant, “Do you still love him?” 

That gets Jihoon to look at him. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes were painted with a multitude of emotions, in varying shades of anger, pain, sadness, and regret. Afterwards, he smiles. It wasn’t a pretty smile, nor was it a happy one. The smile even looked foreign on his face. Nonetheless, it communicates the message well enough without saying anything at all. 

His eyes, despite lacking the usual light they held, possessed a clear reflection of love. 

“Aish,” He says, moving to present Jihoon with the wrap he just made, startling the other. “Here. Open up.”

His friend raises an eyebrow in a silent question. Junkyu continues to bring the wrap closer to his friend’s mouth, while prodding the latter with his eyes. In the end, Jihoon concedes, opening his mouth for the wrap. When he finishes pushing the wrap in, he is confronted with wide eyes, clearly portraying shock.

“Why are you so surprised? _You_ were the one who taught _me_ to eat through a heartbreak!”

Jihoon, who, at present, resembled a squirrel more than he did a human, tilts his head while chewing, as though asking, _‘You remember that?’_

“Of course!” He starts, gently hitting the table between them with one hand. “We were in our junior year then, and I got dumped. You dragged me here to commemorate my first heartbreak and forced me to eat.”

At hearing this, Jihoon’s eyes glint with a familiar sheen. Junkyu stands his ground when he says that his friend’s eyes don’t lie. However, that doesn’t mean that he understood every expression displayed by those eyes. This was one of those cases. Much like back then, when he first noticed it, he’s still clueless as to what it meant.

“I know this isn’t your first break-up, but this is your first heartbreak, isn’t it? Now, we’ve finally come full circle.”

“Aigoo, so you _are_ sentimental.”

“Ya! See if I foot the bill if you keep talking like that.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop,” his friend placates him, voice colored with laughter. “Junkyu-ya, don’t ever change, got it?”

He tilts his head in confusion, “You can’t stop change, though?”

Jihoon smiles, and while he didn’t understand what this meant either, his gut told him that this was a good one. He trusts his gut.

“Exactly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly overwhelmed by the number of hits the work has, as I didn't expect this kind of attention immediately. I'm sincerely thankful to everyone who read and gave a kudos (whether you're an ao3 user or a guest). Kudos as well as comments give me the motivation to write, so please drop them if you have time! But more importantly, if you haven't opened your heart to Treasure, please do so! 
> 
> Also, I write very with a lot of descriptions so I'm sorry if you find them wordy, but every piece of dialogue was carefully chosen. I've left a lot of things in between the lines, but all will be clear in due time, so I hope you guys stick around until then. 
> 
> Teuba!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Twitter if you want to follow me (@teuhanna) or talk to me!


End file.
